


that chaste mouth open like

by pumpkinless



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Breathplay, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Married Couple, Military Kink, Name-Calling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, Spanking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinless/pseuds/pumpkinless
Summary: There is fire dancing underneath Keith’s skin, and all he can think about is burning hotter underneath Shiro.





	that chaste mouth open like

**Author's Note:**

> posting this sort of in celebration of shiro's birthday, sort of in celebration of s5 dropping in an hour, and sort of because i was sick of it lingering in my google drive for over a month! did i get everything in the tags? i really hope so. because there are so many, and my cat is judging me.
> 
> title from [two weeks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yDP9MKVhZc) by fka twigs. let's be honest, her music is the soundtrack to this fic.

Keith feels their victory all the way down to his bones.

In his head, Red is triumphant, stalking about like a smug lioness after bringing down the biggest kill. Over the comms, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are bursting with excitement and joy at having executed their battle plans so well during such a strategically important fight, finally decimating the Galra presence in this sector of the galaxy. Shiro is—Shiro—

Keith’s breath catches in his throat, and he feels the first curling sensation of arousal licking up the insides of his thighs.

God.

Shiro feels powerful, and fierce, and destructive through the Voltron bond running between the five of them. Suddenly, Keith needs to get all that barely contained energy on top of him, surrounding him, have it buried inside him so deep he’s choking on it. He needs Shiro to climb on top of him and let go of the last vestiges of his control and just fucking go to town on Keith like they both damn well deserve.

Hopefully, Keith isn’t projecting lust so loudly right now that it leaks through his bond to the rest of the Paladins, but he’s not sure he has much control over that.

“Alright, good work, team,” Shiro says over the comms. “That looks like the main players are taken out, so let’s separate our lions so we can pick off the rest of the ships before they can escape.”

A chorus of agreements come down the line, and Lance verbally relishes the chance to try out a new technique he’s come up with to use Blue’s tail laser. Keith settles more deeply into his chair and wonders if he could get Shiro to let Keith ride his cock in Red’s pilot seat.

(The answer is yes, but it would require more groundwork than Keith is willing to commit to right now.)

“Lance, Hunk,” Shiro says, “you two work your way through the center of where the fleet was and take out any ships hiding behind pieces of wreckage. Pidge, scan anything that looks like it might have prisoners on board, see if there’s anyone who needs our help.” Shiro pauses as he waits for them to confirm, and then three lions peel out of formation. “Keith, you and I are going to check the perimeter to check for any ships trying to make an escape.”

There is fire dancing underneath Keith’s skin, and all he can think about is burning hotter underneath Shiro. “Yes, sir,” he says. It’s maybe too breathy, too soft, because he hears Shiro’s breathing hitch over the comms just barely. He doesn’t say anything to Keith, just flies away, and Keith _wants_.

Fuck, Keith’s dick is getting hard in his pants and he’s not even in the same room as Shiro right now.

He does a slow loop of the battlefield with Red, only half paying attention to where he’s flying her in favor of the sensors that should throw up warning signs every time he gets within a certain distance of a Galra ship. There are no flags, though, and he makes his way back to Shiro before the others finish flying through.

Keith follows Shiro into the debris field after the other Paladins, but he’s not paying attention anymore; there don’t seem to be any Galra left alive, and if they are, there’s not a single intact ship for them to escape in.

He opens up a private comm channel. “Shiro,” he says, letting his voice get as deep and needy as it wants to.

Shiro stutters in relaying orders to Lance and Hunk.

“Shiro, please.” Keith isn’t whining, mostly.

“What do you want, baby?” Shiro asks softly, like he thinks somehow the others will be able to hear them.

Keith sighs softly, wishing he wasn’t wearing hard armor and a skintight bodysuit underneath so he could at least palm at himself. He shifts in the pilot seat, but his clothes are unyielding.

“Keith?”

He licks his lips. “Yes, sir?”

“You shouldn’t be calling me that right now,” he says, like that’s ever stopped Keith. “We’re on a mission.” Shiro doesn’t sound convinced; Keith takes that as his opening.

“But, sir,” he says plaintively, affecting an innocent tone, “you’re my commanding officer. It wouldn’t be proper.” Shiro—isn’t technically his commanding officer, and never actually was, but he’s the head of Voltron and probably the closest thing Allura has to a second-in-command. Keith is willing to sacrifice some nuance to get what he wants.

When Shiro speaks, his voice rumbles out of him, finally tinged with that particular breed of authority that means Keith can expect a reprimand of the best kind. “What do you want, cadet?” he asks, and oh, it’s on. Keith barely resists from pumping his fist in the air.

“Anything you’ll give me, sir,” he says. “I want to touch myself.”

“Right there, before we’ve even left the battlefield?” Shiro asks. Keith moans in agreement, and he drags a hand over his cock. The body suit is too thick to give him the sensation he really wants, but the pressure just makes him more eager. “You can’t be good and wait?”

“I—” he starts, but they’re interrupted by Lance shrieking over the comms, followed immediately by Pidge’s uproarious laughter.

“Are we all ready to head back to the ship?” Shiro asks, switching back over to the main channel. His voice almost sounds steady, but Keith is familiar with this particular brand of strained control. He knows better.

Again, the Paladins echo their agreement, and Keith follows it up with a slow, “Yes, sir,” only a beat off like he got distracted, but he wants to make sure Shiro catches it.

Hunk elaborates on the feast he wants to cook for dinner that night as a celebration of their win, something that Keith would normally be excited about. It sounds delicious, but Keith keeps swiping his tongue over his bottom lip for an entirely different reason, imagining what Shiro’s going to say to him when they get back, what he’s going to want Keith to _do_.

He takes his time climbing out of Red once they land in the hangar, and when he finally clambers down, he finds Shiro leaning against Red’s paw with a level stare. He’s shed his helmet, so Keith follows suit, propping it under his arm against his hip as he walks up to Shiro.

Shiro beckons him closer, so he takes another step until he’s standing right in Shiro’s space. Slowly, Shiro pushes himself up off Red, practically looming over Keith as he stares down at him with a serious expression. Distantly, Keith can hear Pidge ribbing Lance over something involving showers, but he’s not interested in whatever is going on over there right now—he’s desperately aroused from a combination of the adrenaline from battle and the thought of what Shiro might do to him while he’s having the same problem.

Shiro only stands about three and a half inches taller than Keith, but the breadth of his shoulders and the glint in his eye makes Keith feel all of about half his actual height.

Why is that so fucking hot?

“We need to have a chat,” Shiro says softly. A shiver crawls up Keith’s spine, and he unconsciously leans closer.

“About what, sir?” he asks.

Shiro’s jaw tightens.

“Here’s what you’re going to do for me,” Shiro breathes out, voice so low Keith strains to hear it. “Go to our room. Take a shower but do not touch yourself. I expect you to be ready for me when I get there.”

All Keith can think is a litany of the word yes over and over again in his head, but he forces himself to nod without breaking their stare. “Yes, sir,” he says. “Will that be all?”

“You’re lucky we’re in public,” Shiro says, “or I would smack you for your insubordination.” Keith burns at that, the bottom dropping out of his stomach as his dick throbs between his legs. He wonders what he can do to get Shiro to hit him once they’re alone, and the gleam in Shiro’s eyes tells him it’s not going to be difficult to get. “Don’t make me wait.”

And with that, he steps away from Keith to stride over to the other Paladins, congratulating them on a well-fought battle.

Keith stumbles from the hangar after a few well-intended pats on the shoulder from Hunk and a punch in the bicep from Pidge, eager to get on with what will hopefully turn into the rest of his night. He passes Coran in the hall and lets himself get wrapped up in a celebratory hug before Coran is racing off to offer his participation in cooking dinner to Hunk. Keith might miss dinner; he’s okay with that.

As soon as he enters their room, Keith begins to throw off pieces of his armor, freeing his arms, torso, legs, before finally stepping out of the boots. He feels for the seam on the front of his bodysuit as he steps toward the bathroom, and when it finally falls from his body, he groans aloud in relief.

Sweat sticks to his skin, but the feeling is secondary compared to the arousal that’s screaming for his attention. Keith catches himself by bracing a forearm on the wall and giving his cock two tight, slow strokes, anything to take just the sharpest bit of the edge off, before he forces himself to remove his hand. _Don’t touch yourself_ , he repeats mentally, and it’s one of the hardest orders he’s ever had to carry out.

Speculatively, Keith glances at the door. Shiro forbade him from touching himself, but he had also told Keith to be ready for him, which could mean he has a certain set of expectations he’s looking for. Either Keith has figured out what Shiro wants from him, or he’s goading Shiro into following through on the promises he made to Keith earlier. In both scenarios, Keith wins.

He ducks inside the bathroom to turn on the shower, giving it time to warm up because despite the fact that they live on a spaceship and the hot water supply itself is seemingly endless, the water takes a few minutes to climb past normal Altean temperatures to something that’s considered passable by human standards. Keith doubles back to the bedroom, picking up his armor to put away and dumping his bodysuit in the laundry receptacle—he doesn’t know how the laundry system works in the castle, but he’s just glad he doesn’t have to expend effort cleaning his sweat-slick clothing every time they go into battle.

Keith hesitates one last time as he’s standing by the bed, but eventually he gives in and snatches the bottle of lube out of the bedside drawer.

Shiro enjoys giving him these vague, semi-conflicting sets of directions far too often, and Keith would complain except that it usually means they’re about to have at least one fucking fantastic round of sex. Whatever Keith chooses to do with his orders, Shiro will follow through and give him the ride of his life.

Tonight’s goal, at the most basic level, is to get Shiro to completely own and humiliate him. Keith swears under his breath at the thought.

He steps into the hot shower, and Keith relishes the feeling of the sticky, dried sweat dripping off his body. He takes care in washing his hair, even using his rarely touched conditioner, and soaping up his skin, but he can only hold off on satisfying the thrumming feeling in his body for so long.

Keith gasps loudly as he pushes the first finger into himself. He feels more sensitive than normal, so strung out and needy with adrenaline that he can barely control himself as he leans against the shower wall, cheek mashed against the tile. He pushes another finger inside faster than he usually would, desperate for the slight burn that comes with the sensation of finally being full.

He thinks of Shiro’s fingers—his big, beautiful, strong hands—pushing into him, opening him up so Shiro can take him, and Keith practically sobs in frustration because it feels good but it’s just not enough. He needs something bigger, something deeper, and he can’t even get to that spot inside of him from this angle. Shiro’s fingers are so thick, and he loves to use them.

Last month, Shiro had laid Keith out across their bed, facedown and hands bound behind his back. He never even fucked Keith that night, just kept pressing his fingers inside slowly, stretching and watching while Keith sobbed into the pillows. Keith’s orgasm had built so slowly as Shiro made him beg for it and tortured him with never enough and then too much, until finally Keith’s body had just given in and collapsed in on itself, tears streaming down his face as he came. Keith has never considered himself a religious person, but god help him, Shiro could make him  do anything.

Keith’s wrist aches as he adds a third finger, imagining the look on Shiro’s face when he comes back to their room and sees. He can’t decide what he wants more, Shiro sinking a finger inside him to test how well Keith stretched himself and humming in approval, or anger as he realizes that Keith had left his cock alone but had touched himself somewhere else. Keith whimpers, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling ineffectually at the tile—he wants so badly to get a hand on his cock, is pretty sure just the little extra bit of stimulation would push him over the edge in less than ten seconds, but whatever Shiro wants out of him, it’s not to find an already fucked Keith passed out under the covers from how hard he just came in the shower.

Keith pours every vestige of willpower he owns into slowing his fingers inside himself and drawing them out one by one. He feels even emptier now, but he feels wet and stretched enough that Shiro could have him right now, if he just walked right in.

Keith pants into the wall. He steps out of the shower, skin flushed red from where the shower had beaten down on his left side. He shivers in the cool air of the ship as the steam and humidity dissipate rapidly, thanks to the top-notch Altean air filtering technology.

Now what?

Throwing himself down on the bed, Keith carefully places the lube on the bedside table to make it easier to access. He has no idea how long he's expected to wait here for Shiro, but his cock is so hard and he just wants to roll over and grind down into the comforter until he comes all over himself. Let Shiro walk in on that, on the visible, embarrassing truth of Keith’s desperation streaked across his belly and the bed they sleep in every night.

He wants to walk out of this room limping and covered in biting bruises.

He doesn't know how long he waits. Keith is desperate with wanting; he doesn’t manage to make it very long before he’s groaning in frustration and coating his fingers in lube again to push them back in as he lays on his side, aching for the feeling of something to ground him. He arches his spine, pushes his shoulders back, trying so hard to get some sort of satisfaction out of his fingers reaching behind him, but instead it just feels like throwing fuel on a fire. The only upside, Keith figures somewhat hysterically, is that by the time Shiro gets here, he won’t have to waste any time because Keith is already so open, ready, wet—

“Fuck,” he hisses, slamming his free hand into the bed. His hips jerk; his foot kicks; he wants.

The frenzy in Keith’s head slams to a halt as he hears the door slide open. Frantically, he pulls his fingers out, leaning back on his elbows, legs sprawled carelessly to the end of the bed. Panting, he watches Shiro step in and key in the lock code to the door. He changed out of his armor, freshly showered in probably the communal showers, and is wearing sweatpants and a shirt so tight Keith feels his mouth actually start to water.

The silence is heavy in the room as Keith waits.

Finally, Shiro speaks. “Usual safe words?” he asks quietly, almost betraying the air settling over them, thick with tension and expectation. Keith appreciates it, and he spares a second for his lust-addled brain to swoon over the fact that this is the man he was lucky enough to marry, his _husband_ —someone who double checks for both their sakes that they’re on the same page, that they’re both on an even playing field and so ready to let loose. It manages to make the entire situation just that much hotter, knowing that Shiro loves him and trusts both of them together.

“Red, yellow, green,” Keith recites, flashing Shiro a genuine smile. He gets one in return before the mask of indifference settles back over Shiro’s face.

“Get over here.”

Keith scrambles off the bed, trying to maintain a measured pace as he approaches Shiro. He’s only about ten feet away from the bed, but Keith wants to take advantage of every last one on the off chance that it riles Shiro up just that little bit more.

He stands in front of Shiro quietly, not quite meeting his gaze. Suddenly, cold metal fingers grab him by the chin and yank his face up, forcing Keith to look Shiro in the eye.

“What did I tell you about not touching yourself?” Shiro asks, voice deadly.

“Sir, you told me to be ready, I just—”

A smack rings out, and Keith’s head whips to the left, gasping as his cheek smarts. Shiro takes his chin in hand again to wrench him back around.

“I told you,” Shiro says slowly, “not to touch yourself. I didn’t think that was a difficult instruction to follow.”

He struggles for a moment to stay in character, because right then all he can think is finally, _yes_. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Keith says. “I just wanted to be ready for you, I thought—”

Shiro hits him again, lighter this time without letting go of his jaw. “I didn’t tell you to think, I told you to do what I said.” They stare at each other for a beat, and Shiro starts to look thoughtful. “What are you going to do to apologize to me?”

“Anything,” Keith says immediately. “I’ll do anything, sir, I promise.”

Triumphantly, Shiro smirks. Slowly, he slides his hand down Keith’s throat to settle at the base of his neck over his collarbone, and he spins them around to press Keith up against the wall just beside the door to their quarters. In the back of his mind, Keith hopes that no one is planning on walking down this hallway or coming to look for them anytime soon.

“You know what I want to hear, don’t you?” Shiro croons. He crowds Keith in, not quite pressing their bodies together but nudging Keith into place, corralling him with just the sheer presence of his body and words.

Keith knows exactly what Shiro wants, but he’ll be damned if he’s giving it up that easy.

“I’ll do anything you tell me, sir,” he says, and he moans as Shiro leans in, dragging the point of his nose up the line of Keith’s jaw. This close, Shiro smells clean and warm, not a trace of the sweat-soaked adrenaline scent from heat of battle.

Shiro presses a sweet kiss to the hollow underneath his ear, the gesture almost too gentle for how torn open Keith feels. Shiro’s fingers find the only thing Keith is still wearing, tugging on the thin chain and rubbing over the ring dangling at the bottom of it, sleek, dark metal, and it clinks against the metal of Shiro’s prosthetic. It’s both a reminder and a question—a reminder that Shiro is here, that he loves Keith despite the evidence of the red imprint of his hand blooming on Keith’s cheek, and a question of how far he wants this to go.

Keith wouldn’t call himself a daredevil, necessarily, but right now, he wants to open up the throttle and fly.

So Keith says, “I thought you were going to punish me, sir.”

Shiro’s mouth twists up, grin hungry, predatory. “You don’t want to be good for me, instead?”

“I—I do, but—”

“Well, then it’s just too fucking bad that you’ve already messed that up for yourself,” Shiro snarls. He grabs Keith again, fingers no longer holding just his chin; Shiro presses his thumb and middle finger into the hinges on either side of Keith’s jawbone, his palm nudged firmly against Keith’s throat, not choking him, but Keith is suddenly far more aware of how every single breath he takes stutters out of his throat. Keith whines, high pitched, and he grabs desperately onto Shiro’s shirt as Shiro plants his other hand on the middle of Keith’s chest and presses him against the wall.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Keith says. Every word comes out vibrating against the heel of Shiro’s palm.

Shiro slaps him again, and Keith cries out in pain. “What do you call me, cadet?” he asks slowly, enunciating each word in a low growl.

Keith gasps, tries to turn his head to the side, but Shiro’s hard grip has him caught. He closes his eyes.

Shiro shakes him. “Look at me.” Keith struggles to flutter open his eyelids. His whole body feels like a livewire; Shiro is holding him against the wall in a way that Keith has to balance just so on his toes, just this side of uncomfortable, and Shiro refuses to bring his body close enough to press him back and support him. Keith strains not to move, to look Shiro in his burning eyes, but there’s too much overwhelming need crawling through his body

“I . . .” he whispers, licking his lips. His mouth is so dry from his panting breaths. “Sir, I can’t—”

“You can’t? Why can’t you?”

He tries to say it, to give Shiro what he wants, but the word is stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know which is more humiliating, saying _that_ or feeling so desperate to get Shiro’s hands on him that he would say anything in order to make that happen.

“It’s too hard,” he admits, voice small.

“You tell me you want to be good for me, and I tell you to do two incredibly easy things, and suddenly it’s too hard for you?” Shiro makes a disgusted noise. Keith’s entire face is stained red, and his cock is still so hard between his legs, probably drooling precome on the floor, which Shiro will make fun of him for when he notices. He hates how much this turns him on. He loves how much Shiro likes to see him squirm.

They’re caught in a standoff—Shiro waiting with endless patience for him to give in, and Keith unable to stand the silence, the humiliation.

Trembling, Keith brings one hand up, laying it over the back of Shiro’s hand at his throat, and he tugs it down just a little. “Please,” he begs, “I can’t say it, I can’t—”

Wordlessly, Shiro surges forward, taking the bait, and his mouth crushes against Keith’s as his fingertips settle against Keith’s neck, squeezing just tightly enough that Keith can’t ignore it. He lets Shiro lick deeply into his mouth, and the kiss is slowly, dirty, _mind-bending_. Keith gasps when they break apart—he tries to chase after Shiro’s mouth, but Shiro keeps him trapped.

“What do you call me?” Shiro asks, and, oh, he’s not being fair, pressing one thick thigh between Keith’s legs, offering just enough pressure against Keith’s dick to drive him wild.

“No--I can’t,” Keith says, but he can already feel himself crumbling.

“I came in here, expecting to see you following my orders, and instead you’re fucking yourself on our bed like some kind of slut, and now you can’t even do this?” Shiro shakes his head at him, jaw clenched in anger and disappointment. It’s that combination that settles over Keith, forcing tears to his eyes against his will.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, closing his eyes and sniffing. This is—overwhelming, in the best way, sure, but Keith can’t get over that block inside himself that wants so much but doesn’t always know how to handle wanting it. He wants to say it, but it’s so _hard_.

When Keith finally blinks his eyes open again and he can see that they’re full of tears, Shiro says, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Please—”

“Save it.” A thumb drags across Keith’s bottom lip, the pad of Shiro’s finger pressing into his mouth. “One more chance. No excuses. Apologize properly to me.”

Keith opens his mouth. It comes out as little more than a whisper, but the triumphant look on Shiro’s face is worth it. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

“Good,” Shiro purrs. He strokes Keith’s cheek and kisses him. “Get on your knees.”

Shiro leans back, stepping far enough back that Keith can slide to the floor, and then he’s crowding back in, pulling open the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down over his hips. Keith settles in, shifting until his knees are relatively comfortable. Shiro’s cock is right there in front of him, hard and thick and everything he wants inside him right now, but Shiro grabs him by the hair before Keith can lean in and wrap his lips around it, keeping his shoulders and head against the wall.

“What do you say?”

“Please,” Keith says immediately, and all it gets him in response is a raised eyebrow. Swallowing, Keith steels himself and says, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it.”

In one smooth move, Shiro guides his cock into Keith’s waiting mouth without letting him move from his position against the wall. Keith tries his best to open his mouth all the way to let Shiro in, but it’s difficult—Shiro’s cock is too big to be entirely comfortable like this, but the sensation of it stretching Keith’s lips and forcing his jaw open wider is indescribable. Keith feels a hot rush of power, even here, back to the wall and held in place on his knees; he’s desperate for it, for whatever Shiro wants. Shiro works his cock into Keith’s mouth in short thrusts, pressing back just that little bit deeper every couple of thrusts.

He welcomes Shiro in to wash over him, lets him in so deep until he’s bumping against the back of Keith’s throat, and that’s when Keith understands what he wants. They don’t do this often—it wrecks Keith’s voice the next day, and it’s intense.

With a short moan, Keith nudges his head forward, not to upset Shiro’s grip but as a signal of agreement, and then Shiro is pushing in deep. Keith works desperately to keep himself from choking, and when Shiro pulls back, he sucks in a desperate breath through his nose. Shiro doesn’t wait to push back in, just lets Keith struggle around him, and Keith’s hands find Shiro’s thighs, gripping tight to ground himself.

“Fuck,” Shiro bites out. He releases Keith’s hair to stroke the side of his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Look at you, you love this, don't you?”

Keith whimpers helplessly, deep in his throat. He shuts his eyes tightly, but a tear slides from the corner of his eye anyway, down his cheek, and the heel of Shiro’s palm rubs it away.

“Oh, baby,” Shiro whispers. He pulls back, cock falling from Keith's mouth as he tilts Keith's chin up to look at him. “Is it too much?”

Keith shakes his head frantically. “No, no, please,” he gasps. “Please, I want it, I—”

“Hush.” Keith quiets, but he keeps his mouth open, looking up into Shiro's eyes and waiting. “Nobody else knows, do they? Nobody ever knew how needy you are, how much of a slut you are.” He pauses, rubbing the head of his cock back and forth across Keith's bottom lip. Keith tries to chase it with his tongue. “Do they?”

“No,” Keith breathes.

“That’s too bad.”

The intensity of Shiro’s face renders Keith incapable of responding—his eyes are burning down, and his closed mouth is just barely quirked upward at one corner. His figure is huge and imposing from this angle; Keith feels himself melting, so he pulls back, sitting back on his heels and tipping his head up, back of his skull pressed to the wall. His eyes slide close, and he flicks his tongue over his bottom lip. He wants Shiro back inside him, and if this is what Shiro wants to give him right now, then he’s desperate to take it, to open himself up and feed his desperation.

“You want it so bad,” Shiro says, and Keith resists giving an annoyed sigh that he’s still _stalling_ , but Shiro knows. “Mm, no, don’t give me that. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to put you on your knees and take you however I want?” Keith’s eyes slide back open and Shiro scorches him to the core. “This is how I want to take you.”

With that, Shiro finally pushes forward again, moving in and out of Keith’s mouth in a slow, easy motion that doesn’t fill him up the way he wants, but it’s so good he can’t possibly complain now.

“I’m going to take you apart,” Shiro vows in a tight voice. His cock hits the back of Keith’s throat on one too-deep stroke, and Keith jolts. “I’m going to wind you up, give you what you want, and _just_ when you’re finally feeling satisfied, I’m going to take it away and watch you cry and _beg_ for me to do something.” With a grunt, he pushes the rest of the way in. Keith struggles as Shiro’s cock invades his throat, unable to fight it, dizzy with need and hungry with desire.

“You take me so, so well,” Shiro praises, and Keith’s nails dig into the bared skin of his hips. He doesn’t know whether he wants to push Shiro away or frantically pull him close. “That’s it, baby, you take whatever I give you.”

Shiro’s voice isn’t even strained. Inexplicably, that stray thought makes Keith’s eyes well up again, embarrassed that he’s so worked up from this that his cock is rock hard and his brain is unfocused but Shiro can’t even be bothered to be out of breath.

“You know I love watching you cry on my dick, baby,” Shiro says, and that’s when the damn breaks. Tears are sliding from both eyes now, and Keith would be sobbing if there wasn’t something in his mouth, sliding so smoothly in and out, however deeply Shiro wants to make it.

“Just look at that,” Shiro says reverently. “You remember when we met and you could barely figure out how to get your mouth all the way around my cock?” His thumb rubs at the corner of Keith’s eye, and then down to touch the place where Shiro’s cock is pushing in. “You’re a fucking expert now.”

Keith feels—indescribable, at present. He’s caged in, held, opened, and it’s as overwhelming as it is grounding, pushing and pulling at him until he doesn’t know what to think anymore. The only thing he’s sure about is that he _wants_ , and he wants more than this, because it’s so good but it’s not enough, it doesn’t feel like he’s having his soul ripped from his body the way he knows Shiro can make him feel. Having Shiro buried in his throat makes him throb all over, but he’s craving more. He wants everything, wants to find himself still so strung out that the next day anyone could read the truth off him.

But if this is what Shiro wants, Keith won’t deny him, not while he’s praising Keith for being so hungry for him.

Keith gets so lost in his head, in the places Shiro is touching him, that he almost doesn’t register at first that Shiro is crouched down in front of him, petting the hollows under both of his eyes as he waits for Keith to come back.

“Wha’?” Keith asks, dazed, and his throat is incapable of saying more.

Shiro doesn’t respond, just crushes their mouths together, devouring Keith like he’s starving for it. Keith whimpers helplessly, his hands clumsily sliding up to Shiro’s shoulders and pawing at his shirt, unable to fathom why Shiro is still mostly dressed while Keith is completely naked before him.

“What do you say?” Shiro says as he pulls back.

Keith’s heart thuds in his chest. “Thank you, daddy,” he says, but the embarrassment he usually feels is almost nonexistent this time. His voice is hoarse from trying to choke himself on Shiro.

“You know you’ve made a mess all over the floor?” Shiro says. His eyes search Keith’s face critically. “I should make you clean it up, since it all came from your needy little cock.”

“I—I didn’t,” Keith says, but Shiro presses a biting kiss to his bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to,” he finishes instead, reading the warning for what it was.

“Just like you didn’t mean to ignore me earlier when I told you not to touch yourself, I’m sure,” Shiro says, voice filled with dark amusement. “You just can’t help yourself.” Keith shakes his head.

Suddenly, Shiro stands. “Get up,” he commands. Keith tries to rise to shaky legs, but just getting up to his knees takes too long, and Shiro grabs him and yanks him up. Keith cries out as he’s shoved against the wall and Shiro plants one thick forearm across his chest, bracing his weight on Keith as he leans in. His other hand strokes lightly up Keith’s cock as he whispers, “If I tell you not to come, are you going to disobey that, too?”

“No, sir,” Keith answers, but just as he says it, Shiro tightens his grip, speeds up his movement, and Keith’s toes curl on the ground. He's too worked up already; a needy whine works its way out of his mouth against his will, and he can’t do anything to fight the tension building in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t you dare come,” Shiro says, eyes boring into Keith.

“I won’t, I—I—please stop, I’m going, I’m,” Keith gasps as his hands ineffectually try to grab at Shiro’s arm, but the metal is hard to grasp in his slippery fingers and he’s too weak to stop it. “Pl-please, sir, I’m—”

“You’ll do as I tell you, cadet. Won’t you?”

Shiro’s hand isn’t slowing down. Keith bites his lip to try to distract himself from the pleasure, but as he tries to twist out of Shiro’s hold, it’s impossible to get away.

“No—no!” he sobs, furious at himself for being unable to do what he’s told and furious at Shiro for refusing to let up. He knows what’s going on, that Shiro is forcing him to disobey, but the needy thing inside of him insists that he’s failing to follow instructions, that he’s supposed to be better, should try harder for Shiro, but it’s all falling together and—

An anguished moan tears its way out of Keith’s throat as he comes, stars bursting behind his eyes as he bucks his hips up and loses himself in the sheer, beautiful pleasure. It feels like it goes on forever.

“Is that really all it takes to get you off?” Shiro asks harshly as he’s coming down. “A thirty second handjob after I stuck my cock down your throat? Clean this up.”

Then he’s shoving his hand at Keith, fingers sliding into his mouth as Keith does his best to clumsily lick away the come covering his skin. Shiro tells him he’s a slut again, and all Keith can do is moan in agreement, relishing the way Shiro’s fingers feel petting over his tongue, even against the taste of his own come.

When Shiro takes hand away and Keith mumbles, “‘m sorry,” into the silence, he easily predicts the hand that makes contact with his cheek.

“Usually when you apologize, you try not to do the same thing you had to say sorry for in the first place,” Shiro says. “But you keep having to do it again because you keep breaking my rules.”

Keith shuts his eyes and tries to swallow back the lump in his throat, but it’s impossible.

“Were you planning for this, earlier? When you were teasing me after the battle, trying to goad me into giving you a long, hard fuck?” Shiro asks. “Yeah, I knew what you were trying to do.”

Staying silent, Keith tries to calm his breathing, to stop himself from crying. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.

With a growl, Shiro grabs Keith by the arm and hauls him across the room, pushing him face down on the bed so hard he bounces on the mattress. Keith gasps as Shiro grabs his calves and pulls his legs apart, settling in between them with one hand firmly planted on the small of Keith’s back to keep him down. He can’t help but moan at the rough treatment; he says, “Please,” without really even knowing what he’s asking for.

“Count for me,” Shiro says. And then his hand rains down on Keith’s ass, and Keith startles, yelping and trying to scramble away but can’t find anywhere to go. “I said _count_ , cadet.”

“One,” Keith gasps, and as soon as it’s out of his mouth, Shiro hits him again—the same spot, and it _stings_. “Two.”

It seems to go on endlessly—Shiro is relentless and silent throughout it, and before long, it reduces Keith to a mess sobbing into the comforter. It _hurts_ —he knows his ass is colored bright red now, and has an inkling that tomorrow sitting is going to be less than comfortable, but he can’t stop begging Shiro for more, can’t help the way his wrecked throat pleads and apologizes and says anything he can to make sure it doesn’t stop. Or does stop. Keith doesn’t know what he’s begging for anymore--he’s hard again, from little more than Shiro hitting him and the barest friction he gets from being flat on the bed, and he can’t help how perversely good it feels.

Two more times, Shiro hits him, and Keith isn’t even consciously aware that he’s still counting, but he assumes he must be since Shiro hasn’t stopped until now.

“Do you think you deserve more?” Shiro asks.

“Please, sir, no,” Keith rasps. He’s not going to be able to speak tomorrow. “I don’t—I can’t—”

“Does that mean you’ve learned your lesson?”

Keith’s chest heaves as he tries to breathe, and he wishes he could roll over to look at Shiro. “Yes.”

Shiro hums, one hand caressing Keith’s ass gently and then squeezing. Keith bites down on a whimper—it hurts in the best way, but he can’t deny how sore he is right now, and all he wants is for Shiro to kiss him once behind the ear and tell him he’s been so good, he’s forgiven now, but no such reassurance comes.

“I don’t know that you have,” Shiro muses, briefly scratching his short fingernails over Keith’s ass, and Keith yelps, trying to jolt away from the feeling. Shiro laughs at him.

“I have, I have, I promise,” Keith moans.

Shiro shifts up, and his lips land right on the knob of spine at the base of Keith’s neck, ending the kiss with a scrape of teeth. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me,” Keith says immediately, but it garners him another slap on the ass, and he practically shrieks at the unexpected pain. “Please, I meant please, I want—fuck me, _please_.”

“Please, what?”

Shiro’s hand grips Keith’s ass in a warning and Keith shivers at the feel of it.

“Daddy, please, sir, please fuck me,” Keith pants. Shiro rolls his hips against Keith’s ass, making him moan desperately into the sensation. His soft sweats still feel like too much.

“That’s more like it,” Shiro says, and then he’s pulling away, snagging the lube off the bedside table, and popping the cap open. Keith pants and tries to push his ass up just a little bit further in preparation, but his legs feel like jelly underneath him.

Finally, he thinks, _finally_ , he’s ready for this, but when Shiro presses something wet and slick to his hole, it’s not his cock.

“I'm ready,” Keith protests. “I already stretched myself, you don't—”

Shiro just laughs at him though, like Keith is being oblivious on purpose, and swats at his ass for the backtalk. “How many fingers did you use? Two? Three? Cause that's what I always use, isn't it?” Shiro pulls Keith down closer to him, pressing one hand onto the small of his back to keep him in place, and he settles in the spread of Keith's thighs. He pushes one long finger in, and Keith moans at the sensation, but two is already—

“See that?” Shiro asks, smug. “You've got such long pretty fingers, but they're not wide enough to do this job right. How do you think you're gonna take my cock like this, huh?”

“I can, I can do it,” Keith maintains, but Shiro's fingertips nudge up and sparks shoot down his spine, and he forgets what he's trying to say. “Fuck, _please._ ”

“Not until I say you're ready,” Shiro says, and he sounds far too happy about that for someone who’s cockblocking _himself_ , too. “Takes so much work to get you ready for my cock, baby, cause you’re just so small.”

Keith slams his hand down on the bed as Shiro crooks his fingers upward and sends sparks shooting up Keith’s spine. The tear tracks on his face never fully dry because he keeps starting to fucking cry again. “Please!”

Shiro smacks him lightly, but Keith’s ass is so sore it hurts far more than it should. “You’ll be ready when I damn well say you’re ready,” Shiro says, and Keith keens at the sensation of him driving his fingers in deep.

“Daddy,” Keith moans, long and drawn out, and to his satisfaction, he hears Shiro’s breath hitch at that.

“Are you really that needy, you can’t even wait for me to get you ready?” Shiro asks. Keith starts to answer, but that’s when Shiro starts to add a third finger, and the breath comes out in a long sigh of pleasure. Fuck, but he loves when Shiro opens him up like this, rough and fast so that Keith never really quite gets used to the sensation because it just grows and grows in intensity.

After too long and not long enough, Shiro slips his fingers out, and Keith’s body thrums in anticipation. He lets Shiro tug him to his knees, shoulders still pressed to the bed, and he sighs as he feels the head of Shiro’s cock nudge against his entrance. _Finally._

Except . . . Shiro isn’t moving. Keith twists his head around to look at Shiro, and all he gets is an amused look. “Sir?” Keith asks

“Show me how much you want it,” Shiro says.

Hesitantly, Keith starts to push back. It’s difficult to get the head in from this angle—he knows Shiro is holding it in place for him, but it’s a different sensation and angle than he’s used to. When it finally slides into him, Keith groans, and he pushes himself up to his elbows to get better leverage.

It’s almost impossible to get Shiro in all the way down to the base like this—the angle is off, the stretch in his legs is weird. Keith makes a frustrated noise, fucking himself back sharply once, and it feels good, but it’s not enough.

Keith can’t think about what he looks like to Shiro right now, straining to get his cock deeper inside him, writhing and panting with how desperate he is. God, at least he isn’t crying anymore.

“Is that what you wanted?” Shiro asks him, tapping his fingers on Keith’s ass.

It kills him to admit it. “No.”

“All that time earlier you spent crying about wanting my cock so bad, I finally give it to you and you say you don’t want it anymore?”

In frustration, Keith drops his head down, pressing his forehead to the bed between his arms. “It’s not enough, sir,” he says. “I can’t—I need more.”

“Fucking _slut_ ,” Shiro snaps, and then he’s yanking his cock back, shoving Keith down and throwing him over so he’s lying on his back looking at Shiro for the first time in a long while. Shiro’s eyes are wild, hungry, and it’s then that Keith realizes Shiro hasn’t come once, has been taunting himself even more than he’s been teasing Keith, and that knowledge comes over Keith like a lightning bolt. It’s rare he gets to see Shiro this worked up, but he knows it can only mean good things.

Keith’s body goes _liquid_ as Shiro starts to push into him, almost too fast, but it’s finally what he wants. The stretch, the fullness—it’s everything he’s spent the last god knows how long craving, and Shiro doesn’t disappoint, thrusting inside relentlessly until he’s settled. Keith shudders underneath him.

“You’re so tight, every single time,” Shiro pants in his ear, and Keith offers a broken noise in response. He feels so much, right then, and Shiro is pressing him down, almost flat against his chest, and Keith can barely think. “How does it feel? Is this what you wanted?”

Keith nods his head frantically, and Shiro’s mouth twists up in something that barely resembles a smile, and Keith hardly has a moment to blink before Shiro is pulling partly out and slamming back in. Keith’s spine arches at the sudden feeling, and he clutches desperately at Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro fucks him just like that, whispering terrible, filthy promises right into the shell of Keith’s ear as he fucks him hard and rough. Keith’s ankles lock tightly around Shiro’s body, but he’s not strong enough at this angle to keep Shiro from fully controlling the pace. Judging by the look on his face, Shiro is completely aware of this fact.

Shiro touches him possessively, his hands sliding all over Keith’s skin. He thumbs at Keith’s nipples, rubs one hand against the bottom of Keith’s belly just above his cock, and bites a bruise just underneath his collarbone. It’s an unending tide of sensation, with Keith just pawing ineffectually at Shiro’s shoulders and chest, but he’s too far gone to pay any kind of sustained attention to Shiro’s body, not when he feels like he’s about to fucking fall apart like this.

Face pressed to the base of his throat, Shiro rumbles, “You’re so hot like this, such a fucking _mess_ for me. You’ll take anything I give you, whatever I want, you’ll give it.”

“Yes, yes,” Keith pants out. His nails dig into Shiro’s back, dragging over scar tissue and unmarked skin in equal turn as Shiro’s cock pounds into him so perfectly it’s almost painful.

“Everything,” Shiro says, and he pushes himself up, metal hand planted right next to Keith’s head. His thrusts slow until he’s grinding into Keith, staring down into his eyes and moving his hips in the most distracting way. His other hand starts dancing up Keith’s chest from his navel, skimming lightly over his sternum and tapping two fingers in the hollow of his throat.

Keith swallows, mouth dropping open in a moan as he realizes, and Shiro’s eyes, wild as they are, wait for him to beg, _“Please_ , daddy, I need it,” in a voice so cracked and broken it’s amazing Shiro understands him at all.

Almost too gently for what he’s doing, Shiro wraps his hand around Keith’s throat, pressing his thumb and forefinger to either side of his neck.

With just the barest hint of pressure, Keith is immediately all too aware of the pattern of his breathing, ragged with exertion. “So fucking perfect for me, baby,” Shiro says, and they’re not really in character anymore, but Keith can’t bring himself to care as Shiro puts more pressure until Keith is gasping for air.

“Can you come from my cock, baby?” Shiro asks. Keith isn’t sure, but he’s never been a quitter.

He chokes out a yes when Shiro lets up, and then Shiro pushes back down on his throat again, a renewed glare of determination settling over his face.

Shiro leans down and kisses Keith so deeply it would steal the air from his lungs if it weren’t already gone. Keith’s entire body is trembling from the overload of sensation, until finally his attention narrows down to the only two things he can comprehend—Shiro’s cock splitting him open with deadly force and the hand squeezing at his throat.

It’s so much that Keith almost doesn’t realize his orgasm is building until it’s upon him. He’s vaguely aware of Shiro spewing more filth into his ears, but he can’t make out any complete words with how the blood is rushing in his ears.

Right at the moment he starts to come, Shiro lets go, and he takes a half-strangled gasp of air that feels so sweet, and then he just—explodes, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as he loses control of his body, hips bucking up. The only thing he can do is hold on to Shiro, cling to him so tightly as the whole world whites out behind Keith’s closed eyes. He vaguely registers Shiro moaning above him and Shiro’s hips stuttering against him, but it all feels secondary to the overwhelming strength of his orgasm.

It rolls through him like an unending tide, pushing aside all coherent thought until he’s left panting, staring up at Shiro. Shiro’s face melts into a smile, and he dips down to press a soft kiss to Keith’s lips; they’re too fucked out and exhausted for anything more.

Wordlessly, Keith pulls Shiro in as he unlocks his legs from around Shiro’s waist. Rolling them to the side, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith and nuzzles at the side of his head, lips just brushing his ear.

“Love you,” Shiro sighs. Keith mumbles back something incomprehensible as his eyes drift shut and he falls into sleep.

***

Keith comes to in the bath. The first thing he notices is how soothing the water feels on his body, which is good because the second thing he notices is that he also feels absolutely wrecked and wrung out, exhausted all the way down to his core. The combination of a battle and intense sex back to back, he finds, was not kind to him. Still, Shiro has him cradled against his chest, legs supporting Keith so he’s nearly floating, and the moment in the dimmed lights of the bathroom is soft and perfect.

Keith opens his eyes, blinking a few times to bring the world into focus. The first thing he sees is Shiro’s hand raised above the water, titanium wedding ring shining dully as Shiro studies it, flipping his hand from back to front over and over again.

Smiling at the sight, Keith turns his head in so he’s nosing at Shiro’s neck.

“Back with me, baby?” Shiro asks quietly. Under the water, the arm wrapped around Keith’s waist strokes up his side gently.

“Ugh,” Keith says. His throat is so sore from the—everything, really. “Did I pass out?”

Shiro chuckles. “Yeah.”

Huffing, Keith says, “Sorry”

Snorting, Shiro nuzzles his hair. “Don’t worry about it, baby, I think you more than deserved it. You did so well back there.”

“Good,” Keith says, sighing. The praise sings through him. “My voice is . . . .”

“I’m not sure how you’re going to hide that tomorrow,” Shiro says apologetically, but Keith can only shrug. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was more than worth it.

Keith dozes in Shiro’s arms for a while, soaking in the water and the essential oils Shiro likes to put in baths—they’re Altean, so they’re not quite identifiable, and some of the scents are downright questionable, but this one is sweet, close to lavender but not quite as floral. It’s Shiro’s favorite, and Keith has started to associate it with him.

When Shiro yawns, Keith says hopefully, “Bedtime?”

“Mhmm.” Shiro takes both hands out of the water, stretches them in the air behind them. “First you have to let me put that healing salve on you, though, okay?”

“If you want to massage my ass, you’re welcome to it,” Keith says, shooting Shiro a roguish grin over his shoulder as he sits up. He plants his hands on either side of the bath and tries to heave himself up, but he overestimates the current strength of his limbs. His muscles are still shaky and tired, and they don’t let him get anywhere, so he drops back down with a grunt.

Shiro doesn’t even laugh as he helps Keith out of the bath, and he refuses to let Keith dry himself like a damn adult, instead insisting on gently rubbing Keith down, which he claims is so he can check for injuries. Shiro is so gentle with him, though, and just having his attention like this is the best kind of aftercare.

Keith has one brutally large bruise blooming darkly on his ribs, and he frowns at it, unable to figure out where it came from. He casts his mind back and realizes it’s not from Shiro at all—it’s from a Galra fighter crashing into Red and throwing Keith into the arm of his pilot chair.

“Doesn’t feel like we were just fighting the Galra a few hours ago,” Keith says, and Shiro makes a small noise in agreement.

“Would you consider spending some time in the healing pod for that tomorrow?” he asks worriedly, gesturing at the mark. “I know it’s not life threatening, but . . . .”

“I’ll see how it feels in the morning,” Keith says, and Shiro accepts that with a nod.

Shiro bundles Keith into bed with all the care of someone who spent some time hitting their husband for mutual enjoyment today, a thought that makes Keith laugh to himself while Shiro ducks into the bathroom for the healing salve.

“What’s that for?” Shiro asks, grinning at him when he gets back and gently pushing Keith’s hair out of his eyes.

“We’re kinky fuckers,” Keith says, too tired to expend the energy to explain fully. Shiro seems to understand nonetheless.

Methodically, Shiro rubs the salve into Keith’s skin, trying to keep his touch light, but he can’t keep it from hurting entirely, unfortunately. Keith squirms a little at the sensation. Shiro focuses mostly on his ass, but after he’s done there, his hands trace over Keith’s other bruises, touch soft and grounding. Whatever Coran and Allura make this stuff out of, it has cooling properties like aloe vera gel, and it feels mildly uncomfortable upon first contact with his inflamed skin, but once it settles into his skin, it’s amazing.

Shiro finishes with a kiss to his temple, and he starts to cross the room to the bathroom, but something catches Keith’s eye and he calls out for Shiro to stop.

“Shit,” Keith rasps. “Your back is . . . .” He studies Shiro’s shoulders and a smug, possessive feeling overtakes him. Shiro’s scars, mostly gone white with time, are contrasted now by sets of red lines down his sides, across his shoulders—looking at him, Keith starts to think he needs to cut his fingernails more often. “Bring that back here,” he orders Shiro, who only looks back at him bemusedly.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you right now,” he teases, but he acquiesces.

“We both take care of each other,” Keith says through a yawn. He gets Shiro to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him and gently works the salve into the scratch marks, still not sure if he should be feeling primarily guilty or pleased over this. He’s never managed to mark Shiro up this much before.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking back there,” Shiro says, “stop thinking it. You’re fine.”

“Some of these are deep,” Keith says, tracing one finger down the side of the reddest one.

Shiro shrugs. “You’ll just have to cut your nails shorter next time.”

Keith laughs despite himself, and his heart flutters in his chest. No matter how many times the universe tries to rip them apart from each other, they’re still so in tune. Every day, every hour, Keith thinks fondly, every moment spent with this man is everything he wanted. He can’t say it out loud, doesn’t think Shiro even necessarily craves to hear it, but it’s the kind of knowledge he likes cradling close inside his heart, precious and infinite. Being married is one thing, but the soul-deep certainty that he and Shiro belong to each other is another thing entirely.

Once they’re under the covers with the lights out, Keith wriggles close to Shiro until he’s spooned up behind him, and he presses a kiss to the closest patch of skin he can find, “Love you,” Keith says.

Shiro takes Keith’s hand in his own and threads their fingers together, warm and intimate. “I love you, too,” he says.

And with heavy eyes and a smile on his lips, Keith drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! let me know what you think, and you can find me on tumblr @[disloyalpunk](http://disloyalpunk.tumblr.com)!
> 
> now that this is, uh, out of my system, it's back to the fic i'm supposed to be working on lmao.


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